


Fond of the Honey-suckles and Whiskey Tainting You.

by goopclaws



Category: Among Us (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Accidental Plot, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Among Us (Video Game) Setting, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Murder, Awkward Romance, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Declarations Of Love, Drama & Romance, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Evil Wilbur Soot, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Human Impostor(s) (Among Us), I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Killing, Love, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mira HQ (Among Us), Murder, Murder Mystery, Murderers, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Outer Space, Pining, Plot, Plotty, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Short, Short & Sweet, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Threats of Violence, Tragic Romance, Villain Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goopclaws/pseuds/goopclaws
Summary: “You should take your helmet off more.” Wilbur noted to no one in particular, eyes downcast onto the focused man, nearly snorting at the ram horns poking up from the top of his helmet.He was sure he could smell Schlatt’s sinister grin at that point, just as sure he could hear him purr too, “What, you wanna’ kiss me that bad? Aw, Wil, c'mere.” He sneered, snickering cruelly and Wilbur offering a keen roll of his eyes.“Yes, now gimme’ a smooch.” Wilbur cooed, not even half playing like Schlatt had been, snatching Schlatt’s helmet from his head, holding it high to the air, leering his nose in to bury itself into the top of Schlatt’s brunette busied head, the newly recruited astronaut groaning with a faceted twitch of his nose as he continued on his wires, face maybe just a little warm, fingers fumbling as he glanced from the vibrant colored wires to the pamphlet guide for the wires clenched in his hand, the paper wrinkled and torn from its age. Wilbur was sure he could stare for hours at the dumb mutton-chops sculpting his face, and the fond look unable to drift from his eyes as he fumbled around with the wires in his gloved palms for maybe a little too long.
Relationships: Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 20
Kudos: 228





	1. Wearing In New Shoes.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction includes romantic scenes with the personas (more specifically Among Us personas) of real people. If this makes you uncomfortable or you disagree with it, please do not read this, and defiantly do not comment anything discouraging my use of themes with the personas of JSchlatt and Wilbur Soot on Among Us in my writing.
> 
> Please do not spread this 'fic anywhere, especially on social media where the creators featured could see, and do not inform them of this 'fic's existence, as I do not wish to make anyone uncomfortable. If you feel the need to tell me how disgusting I am for writing this, you can if you really want to, but just know, I don't encourage anyone to write similar to what I do, and I don't like that I write things like this either. I am neurodivergent, and hyperfixated on Schlattbur, and the only way I can express this is to write fanfiction, I am anonymous and only go by the alias goop/goopclaws for a reason. Just know, if you do comment something discouraging me, it's something I've already told myself beforehand, and I appreciate your concern for the creators involved.
> 
> Thank you!

The air was dry and cramped, as it usually was in the ship, it felt crowded despite it being such a wide, wide space with usually only one or two individuals per room, and only ten of them on the ship in the first place. Wilbur was quick to befriend the majority of those who accompanied the ship, though most of them brushed his kindness off as suspicious, or just plain weird, and began to avoid them. Often, on these space expeditions, people were allowed onto the program quickly, without any prior education even, considering they were test runs of newly made spacecrafts, and the trips usually lasted from half a year to a year, the only regulations were that each crew-mate must be sixteen or over, have a well run background check and drug test done on them a month and a week before leaving, complete routinely everyday tasks whilst aboard the ship, as well as pay the colossal funds to have the opportunity to take the trip. Reports in the past year, however, had found a suspicious shift in the death rates for these trips, while dangerous, the expeditions had never been deadly, yet now on average two people per crew were dying every trip, which was outrageous considering anything gathered on these expeditions the five years they had been around. As more investigation ensued, it was confirmed not even a month prior to Wilbur’s expedition, that an organization had been sending assassins to murder the people that boarded the ships, and despite the extensive background checks done on each person who were let onto the ships, they were never found out to be assassins. 

Now, Wilbur wasn’t dumb, no, not at all, he had generally always perceived himself as rather cunning if anything, but yet when he was given countless opportunities to drop out from something that would more than likely put him in grave danger, or atleast traumatize him if someone else on the ship murdered one of the other crew-mates, he stayed. He had always been vastly fond of space, and his college courses geared him towards becoming an astrologist, it had been his dream job since as far back as he could remember. This expedition would be his first trip to space, and despite the funds leaving his bank account deep into the negatives, and causing his peers to label him a maniac, he was more excited for this than he had been anything else in his life. 

People all across the globe could join the crews, but usually those who spoke similar languages natively got stuck together, so all of his crew-mates were either american or european white guys.

First, “Technoblade” (or so he called himself), he was a fairly strange man, one Wilbur naturally fell wary around, he wore a pink suit, and refused to ever take off his helmet, despite oxygen being plentiful (Wilbur had even walked in on the guy wearing it to sleep before). 

“Fundy” (another one with a strange Alias, and no ties to his birth name), a pretty straightforward strong worded man, he wore orange, and seemed to hover around another crew-mate, Connor, who wore cyan, they were like minded and seemed suspicious of everyone but themselves, usually sharing whispers in the cafeteria in their free wake. 

Scott, and or “Smajor”, who wore forest green, he seemed a quiet intellectual, someone like Wilbur who wanted to experience space more than let their anxiety of death consume them.  
“Minx”, the only woman among the crew, who wore brown, she was mean and had a bite to her words, seeming to find interest in no one, nor in space, more annoyed than frightened or excited to be on the ship. 

Tommy and “Tubbo”, two sixteen year olds who had been close friends off the ship, and were practically bound by the hip, Tommy loud and troublesome, wearing blue, and Tubbo more of a peacemaker of the two, wearing yellow. Wilbur found himself fairly fond of the boys, enjoying the liveliness they offered to the ship.

“Quackity” was a strange type of person, he wore red, and he was obnoxious and loud, but not in a nice way, he seemed to never really care for completing his tasks, though Minx of all people showed to be somewhat relative to him.

Finally, “Schlatt”, or, well, “JSchlatt”, but no one called him that. He was the only person Wilbur found himself clicking with, and it didn’t help that Wilbur’s stomach would flutter every time the guy took his helmet off. He was a brunette, and he sported strong mutton chops, a patchy beard, and mustache, which originally appeared silly, though now they were endearing to Wilbur. He wore black, and on top of that had super-glued ram horns to his helmet, which Wilbur found just as interesting and cute as he did his crew-mate’s facial hair. Wilbur thought the man was similar to a cat, he was snarky and a tease, though generally laid back and reliable

In other words, Wilbur was damn infatuated in Schlatt.

Now, in the stuffy spacecraft, Schlatt busied his hands crossing and connecting wires by the corner indented next to the locker room, Wilbur leaned against the wall next to the black suited man, letting his own eyes cast to helmet sheathed eyes trained to the wirings within the wall, “You should take your helmet off more.” Wilbur noted to no one in particular, eyes downcast onto the focused man, nearly snorting at the ram horns poking up from the top of his helmet.

He was sure he could smell Schlatt’s sinister grin at that point, just as sure he could hear him purr too, “What, you wanna’ kiss me that bad? Aw, Wil, c'mere.” He sneered, snickering cruelly and Wilbur offering a keen roll of his eyes. 

“Yes, now gimme’ a smooch.” Wilbur cooed, not even half playing like Schlatt had been, snatching Schlatt’s helmet from his head, holding it high to the air, leering his nose in to bury itself into the top of Schlatt’s brunette busied head, the newly recruited astronaut groaning with a faceted twitch of his nose as he continued on his wires, face maybe just a little warm, fingers fumbling as he glanced from the vibrant colored wires to the pamphlet guide for the wires clenched in his hand, the paper wrinkled and torn from its age. Wilbur was sure he could stare for hours at the dumb mutton-chops sculpting his face, and the fond look unable to drift from his eyes as he fumbled around with the wires in his gloved palms for maybe a little too long. 

Wilbur pressed his nose more firmly into Schlatt’s hair, grinning into his scalp when he felt the peach-fuzzed man swat at his face, grumbling something along the lines of “Dumb brits’”, Wilbur only letting his grin grow further. Giving into Schlatt’s playful slaps to the head, Wilbur stood up straight, still leaned close to the slightly shorter crew-mate’s face, suffocating his proximity with the scent of pine trees and whatever stale smell the ship stenched almost nostalgically of. Sort of like carnival peanuts, or the smell of peppermints in your childhood grocery store. Whatever it was, it was stuffy, though wistfully stuffy, “Should we head to the canteen soon? I haven’t eaten breakfast.” Wilbur murmured, half paying attention to Schlatt’s response, half zoning out into thoughts of kissing the top of Schlatt’s routinely messy bed-head hidden under the dumbass helmet he sported with even dumber goat horns attached to the top.

Schlatt snorted, whipping his head around to the accented man perched beside him, “Canteen?” he mocked in his best awful impression of a British accent, “Dumbass fuckin’ brits’ man, I swear.” eyes crinkling, Schlatt’s snort soon shifted to a billowing laugh that invaded the air all the way to the next room over. Though, Wilbur couldn’t find any room in his headspace to be bothered by the ragged sinister howl Schlatt flaunted to the halls. 

Wilbur would've feigned annoyance around anyone else, but Schlatt’s laugh was too deathly contagious to deny, huffs of humor whispering through Wilbur’s throat, his smile all too love-stricken for him to defend his dialect now, “Yeah, yeah, sure, just let me finish these wires.” Schlatt rusted after calming down, curvature of his lips still stained into his face, “Y’know, you can go without me though, I’ll be over there in a few anyway, I haven’t ate either, only had a cup o’ coffee.” 

The taller of the pair of brunettes shrugged, leaning into the wall once again, face unreadable as it often was, “I just like to go with you, you either make me laugh a bunch or we just have a good ol’ conversation when eating together. It’s nice.” He offered a soft smile, one he often teethed up when near Schlatt, unable to help the flutter in his throat itching the corners of his mouth. 

Schlatt hid his face closer to the wires, “Don’t get all sappy on me, man, I’ll go with you.” He husked, a low chuckle sounding from his throat, it was fond, Wilbur was fond. A sizzle from the wires signified Schlatt’s completion, that man still huddled next to the wire box as he drew out his tablet from the satchel hanging from his waist, checking off the task and shoving the device deep back down into the bag, “‘Aight, let’s go.” And so they did, bounding off to the cafeteria, speaking in quiet taunts and giggles as they walked the halls, working in the shape of their newly worn boots.

Once reaching the cafeteria, Wilbur could only stare in partial perplections, watching keenly as a certain platinum blonde teenager stood atop a lunch table, yelling to the top of his lungs some speech Wilbur couldn’t bare to listen to, though he was sure half of it had been stolen from the queen. Sitting at that same table, a dirty blonde just as young man was tugging at the platinum’s ankle to get him to quiet down and eat his breakfast, though he still had a pleasant smile lighting his lips. Tommy and Tubbo, mischievous as always, Wilbur noted with a tug of his lips, Schlatt seeming to barely send them a glance as he busied himself at the food carts, tray in hand as he picked at the not so very unique and very bland food offered to them. No one really wanted to eat astronaut bagels, did they? Regardless, Wilbur trailed along.

After sitting down at the table cross from Tommy and Tubbo (which Tommy now had slipped and fell from the table, and Tubbo was partially laughing at his friend partially helping him up to take him to medbay), the two men began eating in comfortable silence, hums of dissatisfaction in their food being the only noise rumbling through the room. Soon, clacking of space boots echoed down the hall, Schlatt swallowing the last bite of his dissatisfactory food, and Wilbur balling up the wrapper of his own breakfast to throw away along with his paper mache tray, two pairs of caramel eyes lifting to meet two huddled close men, Connor and Fundy. They looked quite vibrant compared to everyone in cyan and orange, though their personalities were lackluster in the same sense of enthusiasm, “Hello, fellas’.” Connor hummed as he walked in, his counterpart arching a brow at the unusually quiet men.

“Eating breakfast, I see?” Fundy noted, Connor’s eyes raking up the two men enough to leave internal scars, “Couldn’t you be doing tasks right now? And maybe split up for once.” Fundy snarked, patting down his citrus suit, calloused hand running over his satchel cooly, obviously keen to present the number of tasks he’d busied away at all morning. Wilbur clenched the plastic of his food tightly, Schlatt sending him a “You okay?” sort of look, one Wilbur cast away for his mind to rot over fondly some other time.

Wilbur curled his lip, eyes sending daggers through the men cowered by the cafeteria entrance, “You’re one to talk, you’re practically glued to Connor all day and you’re telling us to separate?” the accented astronaut hissed, eyes cold as he stared the two men down, their own glares not halting for a moment. 

Schlatt gave Wilbur another look, “Dude, calm down, it’s no big deal, we can always hang out later.” Schlatt muttered, his voice low to where their crew-mates would not over hear what they shouldn’t. Wilbur clenched his jaw, leaning back against the spine of his chair after a moment, nodding slowly at Schlatt’s statement with somewhat of a pout now warming his lips at the thought of not tagging along with the scruffily bearded man.

“Let’s go then, better not to waste our time on them.” Wilbur murmured back, Schlatt’s tug of lips releasing the tense anger consuming Wilbur in an instance, the taller of the pair smiling back just a little too wide, he thinks, “See ya’, mate.” Schlatt held back a laugh at his accent, though he held back his teasing comments on the matter as well, wishing his goodbyes as they parted, Wilbur now trotting to decontamination, a skip in his step and his interaction with Connor and Fundy was soon to be clouded by the smile Schlatt mercilessly bestowed upon him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and positive comments are very appreciated! 
> 
> I don't have much to say, but do know I am very passionate of this 'fic and you can certainly expect better chapters than this one moving forward. This one was rushed, and the character building of it all is quite frankly disgusting, so I apologize, and hope you enjoy future chapters more!


	2. Blood Staining My Gloves, Blood Staining My Soul.

Wilbur wasn’t crazy. No, he wasn’t. If anyone ever said he was, they were the insane one. Yes, Wilbur was sane, but the static ringing in his ears as he walked, the screams sounding alongside the static, the smell of blood still tainting the air only to him, it surely wasn’t clearing his name any. You see, it had been dark, oh so dark, and the colors of orange were too bright against the luminous soot dark to ignore. Wilbur always held a pocket knife on him. Fundy didn’t.

Fundy was a menace, a fiend, cruel in his words, cruel in his walk, cruel in every breath he took, in every breath that coiled around Wilbur’s ears and sent his gaze blurry in rage. Now, now Fundy had stepped over a line not to be crossed, pulled the last straw, gone too far, in other words, he was destined a goner by dawn. It occurred at 3:25 p.m. sharp, admin, Wilbur remembered every little detail, everything down to the dust on Fundy’s suit, and the evil, insane, cruel, wicked grin Fundy gave him. Oh, how Fundy was a dead man. 

He had walked in so slyly, so proudly, a pep in his walk as Connor tagged a long. Schlatt had been swiping his card, the machine having him growling and having Wilbur snickering at his struggles, that is until Fundy walked in, “So, I thought you guys split up?” Connor sneered with a curl of his lips, Fundy only staring with slate eyes.

“Yeah, at like, eleven, you dipshit.” Schlatt snarked, frowning cooly, seeming ready to punch the card machine that continuously barked back at him in beeps, “Can you leave us alone? If anything, you’re treating murder like it’s a game. I’m not a murderer, Wilbur isn’t a murderer, now stop trying to play detective and do your god damned tasks, you fuckin’ dunces.” He seemed annoyed, the card machine buzzing at him every few swipes of his card not helping the steam practically whistling from the peach-fuzz sporting man’s ears.

Wilbur leaned back onto the table, casting a long, fond, oh so fond, look to Schlatt, before turning with cold eyes to his crew-mates, “You two are teaming up to murder everyone on this ship, I know it, and I know it well.” Fundy sneered, holding his head high in snooty disgust, “Where’s your knife Schlatt? Where’s the keys to the vents, Wilbur? How's it feel to be a cold, evil, murderer?” 

Wilbur could feel his veins bulge, his face turn red, his entire body burned with only putred, swelling anger as he gritted his teeth, strongly, strongly. Before he could fling curses and threats to Fundy, fists balled and ready to bruise, the two men had left, leaving only the buzzing of the card machine. The buzzing was enough to drive Wilbur mad, not able to escape for one moment. Wilbur snatched the card from Schlatt’s hand, swiping the card once before a green bulb greeted him and Schlatt, the smaller of the two brunettes looking up to him slowly, seeming wary of the intensity of Wilbur’s anger that so visually melted into him, “Hey, dude, you good? Just ignore them-” But Wilbur was already making his leave, already planning on which angle he should slice Fundy’s throat at.

Now, now Wilbur stood quiet, oh so quiet, not even he could hear the beat of his heart now. His long limbs felt crushed under the metal, aluminum of the vents hugging his insides, eyes cool and calm as he watched, quietly, quietly. Fundy sat alone inside security, flicking through the cameras, he seemed smug, as if to tell Wilbur “you can’t kill me, you couldn’t if you tried” but oh, oh would Wilbur pull through. Oh, would Wilbur make him sorry for everything he had said. And so, murder was afoot, afoot indeed. Blood would stain ghastly white, and blood would paint a murder virgin’s soul red, it would all stay in that room though, the screams, the knife, the blood, the evidence, all tucked away into the room where it happened.

Wilbur lie with a grin on his lips, triumphant of his victories, triumphant of the burden of losing precious air to Fundy no longer weighing down his shoulders, but escaping from the problem would never last for long, especially when he left the body askew on the camera room’s floor, blood puddling around the corpse, as if to gloat, as if to say, “I killed you, I didn’t even try”. 

A scream erupted from down the hall, a bloody ruthless one, one that made Wilbur lose his grin, his stomach churning. Now, each crew member huddled together over the corpse in security, eyes blown, skin pale, bodies shaking, all but a few, all but the murderers themselves, Wilbur could only presume.

Connor was the first to speak, and he spoke in howls, “Wilbur murdered my friend, it was Wilbur! He killed him because Fundy knew he was a murderer!” His voice was fragile, weak, hurt, satisfying, “He’s insane! He killed Fundy!” Wilbur suppressed the grin threatening to drag his lips up, he suppressed it oh but did it still burn along the goosebumps scattered into his skin, “Throw him out! Kill him! He doesn’t deserve to breathe! He’s a psychopath!” Wilbur could only breathe small ghosts of cackles.

“Wilbur wouldn’t do that.” Tommy muttered, quiet, oh so quiet, he sounded hurt. Wilbur grimaced, but Tubbo nodded.

“He wouldn’t, don’t blame this on Wil’, he’s a good guy, everyone on this ship knows that! I say it’s Minx! She doesn’t seem surprised, or sad, or scared! Not at all!” The teenager’s voice was shrill in denial, Wilbur knowing Tubbo never doubted Minx for a second, not one. Even so, Wilbur nodded along, slowly, a smile still tickling the corners of his mouth. 

He hummed, approvingly, slowly, “Yeah, I agree. Why would I kill Fundy over a little argument?” Who wouldn’t? Wilbur would ask himself, “I think this is to cover up the bigger picture, to cover up that no normal person would murder over some little fight, and a real murderer would only use this as leverage, to hit two birds with one stone, if you catch my drift?” He continued, Schlatt staring at him, unreadable, though he stared, and Tubbo and Tommy nodding fervently in comparison, hope in their eyes for anything but the truth, “It doesn’t have to be Minx, but I could see it being Minx, or Connor, or Technoblade, or Quackity.” Each name he mentioned sent him looks, all looks Wilbur didn’t dare to stare back into, scared of the vortex pulling him into the confession, to make the screams of Fundy leave his ears.

Technoblade leered forward to the scene, waiting a long, painful, moment before he spoke, his voice a deep melody as it had always been, “I think Wilbur’s right, and Tubbo’s right about Minx specifically. She’s been sketch’ from the beginning, but we can’t kick her off the ship just off a whim, we need evidence that’s not her being fine staring at a dead body.” 

Green gloves pulled off matching head gear, nodding along with Technoblade’s reason as he did so, “I agree, Techno. But, okay, sure, say, we kick Minx off, or kick Wilbur off, or kick Connor off, or whoever, what happens if they’re innocent? Doesn’t that make us murderers? And even then, that leaves less people on the ship, less people to murder, and more of a paycheck for these assasins.” Scott’s words were reasonable, he was right, who were they to murder someone possibly intirely innocent? 

Schlatt inched forward, rusted in though, eyes narrowed, and hands shaking, Wilbur could tell, but he still felt no remorse for Fundy, he was destined to die, yes, destined from the start, “We still need to vote someone off the ship, though, don’t we? Why ignore the chance of getting rid of a murderer? What if they kill more people just because they weren’t voted out?” 

Scott nodded, “You’re right.” He murmured in thought, smiling sadly as he did so, “Then we need to decide on someone. I think it’s Minx, really. I don’t want to kill her, I don’t want any of this to be happening. I prayed for this not to happen, really, I did.” Your prayers will do no good, Wilbur wished he could tell him, for I have murdered that man, and I’ll tell you I damn enjoyed every last second of it, so where’s your god now?

Brown would no longer meet the eyes of those who boarded the ship, not without thinking of the woman who they told themselves murdered their crew-mate. But oh, oh were they so bitterly mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and positive comments are very appreciated! 
> 
> Hello, again! My original plan was to space out the uploads of this 'fic for suspense purposes and to pull in more readers, but I couldn't help it, I'm excited to hear feedback and really like this chapter, so I will cave in this one time and give you an early chapter. Only one, though!
> 
> The original map for the chapters was five but it might be longer for suspense, I'm not sure, I'm more used to one-shots and 5k word long pining 'fics rather than actual, well, plot. Either way I hope you enjoyed, and please let me know if I'm doing alright, or if the murdering came too soon. Thank you!
> 
> (Also this chapter was sort of inspired by "Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allen Poe, but only a little.)


	3. Fear, Fear That Can Burst Skulls

Schlatt was shaken. Wilbur knew, he knew from the way his eyes darted across each room before he entered, slowly, slowly, he no longer taunted, he no longer teased, he no longer ate, he no longer breathed. Wilbur had proposed to him, in gut turning remorse for the panic he caused in his beloved, for the remorse that oozed through his brain at the sight of Schlatt’s nails clawing at his sleeves every time they met, the husked bags under his eyes, the fragile voice he still held, “Schlatt, deary, I have an offer to make.” Schlatt had nodded in a daze, he seemed too far gone to care. Wilbur dragged out his pocket knife, with the innocent grin of a cold faced liar, the knife he’d killed Fundy with, the knife that led to Minx’s death, “I’ve seen how terrified you are, really, I have, and I begin to worry when you won’t join me to eat, you’re starving yourself.” He leaned forward to thumb at the bags circling the man’s eyes, “You’re not sleeping either.”

“So, I propose an offer. We circle around the ship and do your tasks, then we do mine, I have a knife, and I’m not letting anyone hurt you. Alright?” Schlatt stared at the knife with big eyes now, oh so big, and oh so infuriatingly unreadable, slate, “Hey, I want you to feel safe, man. I’m worried. You know I’d never hurt you or anyone else, I am not crazy.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself rather than Schlatt.

Schlatt swallowed the spit he hadn’t known he was building up in his throat, “You’d really do that..? You’d kill for me?” Wilbur could just harshly resist the snicker howling in his head, his smile upturning once more. How he wanted to tell Schlatt, to see the horror seep into his eyes, when Wilbur would tell him how he had already murdered, all for his beloved, Schlatt, how he would do it a million more times for him, too. 

Schlatt’s voice was small, nothing of what it used to be, gullible, shriek, horrored. Now, Schlatt was not a gullible man, nor was he naive, though mortal fear, fear that fuzzed your vision, that hugged your skull so tightly you begged it to burst, the type of fear that made you trust a deluded man whispering sweet nothings in your ear, that made you gullible, it made you want to believe everything alluded safe to be true, and everything alluded dangerous to be wrong. 

Wilbur smiled, feigning sorrow, though no dejection loomed over him now, his soul wicked in scarlet, murder on his stainless gloves, “If I must, yes.” And so it was settled then and there, Schlatt’s muscles loosening, his taunting returning, the feeling of him now rumbling at the pit of his insides, now, he was no longer panicking each time he entered a room, instead he kept his eyes glued to Wilbur’s, training them, putting his life, his soul, all of his trust into the man he’d known roughly around a month, all because of one thing; fear.

Now, Schlatt sat in reactor, Wilbur just across the hall in security, doing wiring just for a moment, only a moment, when he heard a voice, one evil, vile, putrid tone that made Wilbur hear ringing in his ears like he’d never heard anything else before, “I don’t wanna’ do this, Schlatt, but your friend, Wilbur, seems pretty-” He paused, maybe to motion to something, “-in the head, and like he and Scott said, us cold brutal murderers need our paycheck, and we need to hit two birds with one stone.” Wilbur could hear the smile in his voice, he could hear the evil in his voice, he could hear him whisper for Wilbur to just come and snap his neck already, and feel his muscles limp in his arms, “Forgive me, buddy. Oh, and, say hi to Fundy and Minx when you’re gone, will ya’?” That’s when Wilbur sprinted, he sprinted across the hall faster than he ever had, blood in his hands within the second he reached them, blood splattering along his suit, along Schlatt, along the floors. Quackity screamed, he had begged, he had sworn, he had promised not to tell, he had made the wrong choice. But this, this needed to stay in the room where it happened. All of it. All of it. He turned to Schlatt. They were bloodied. Adrenalin and pure murder lust flooded through Wilbur in an instance, the release of agonizing pain rippling through him every moment he stared at Quackity’s body, the sight of his body limp in Wilbur’s arms, where Wilbur still held the knife tight to his throat, as if to keep him dead longer. It made Wilbur’s eyes crinkle. It made Schlatt scream.

Schlatt seemed terrified, he screamed and he yelled nonsense, nothing but gibberish to the walls of the room. But why be scared of Wilbur? Wilbur wasn’t crazy or anything, he wasn’t some deranged psychopath, he simply had a goal, and his goal was protecting his beloved whilst also having fun, what’s so wrong about that? Murder is fun, you see, maybe try it yourself if you still see him immoral, you’ll see how fun it is, the way your heart ups a beat, the wine red painting your soul a murderer, it’s all quite wonderful, really. 

Wilbur had helped Schlatt stand, with a keen smile struck across his lips, and Schlatt could only hold onto Wilbur, for dear life, he clawed into Wilbur's neck, sobbing into the fabric of his suit. Wilbur hummed. Maybe before he had felt guilt for his sins, for the murder that sunk his heart red, maybe, but now? Now, he felt no guilt at all, not when he got everything he wanted, not when Schlatt was buried deep in his arms, and not when his boot heel sunk into the pale, dead, face of their crew-mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and positive comments are very appreciated!
> 
> All of the chapters have been finished! Yay! I'm so tired! If you're interested in the upload schedule, I will be uploading the rest of the chapters one chapter per week (on any day, since I have a very hard time remembering schedules). 
> 
> I apologize for this chapter being short, but the next one is much longer because of this, and because I wanted to fit a main story point all into chapter four, so I had to just stick this short little thing that shows the "pact" Wilbur and Schlatt make here as chapter three.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter fully, however, and you can look forward to the next next Wednesday! Also, yes, the chapter count did go from five to eight, and I may have busted through four chapters in one sitting. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed this, and can look forward to the next chapter next week.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and positive comments are very appreciated!
> 
> Despite starting out on this account with rape and violence, I mostly write fluff, and while this is still far from my usual with the murderous aspects, and the recurring theme of Wilbur's obsession and insanity as an impostor, the fluffy aspects in this and Schlattbur's dynamic can be more expected in future 'fics! I have many planned, and hope you'll stick around to read them!
> 
> Also, I am well, well aware this plot-line makes no sense canonically with Among Us, considering you can't kill another impostor as an impostor, and that the explanation for everyone being on the ship is completely from up my ass, but it was still fun to write, and possessive murderous Wilbur has always had a soft spot in my heart. 
> 
> This 'fic was inspired by [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQ0HDfJ83ps) for no reason in particular, I just liked seeing Schlatt and Wilbur playing Among Us together, and it got my writer juices flowing. 
> 
> One last note, that might make more sense if you were to re-read, and yes had to do with me actually wanting to include honey-suckles through the greenhouse like the title entails, the setting is Mira HQ, not to be confused with The Skeld, or, somehow Polus. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and look forward to future chapters!


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